


Pretty little lies that I wanted to believe

by Lizpi



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Gen, POV John Watson, Working Out My Feelings Through Fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-25
Updated: 2016-07-25
Packaged: 2018-07-26 14:30:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 461
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7577710
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lizpi/pseuds/Lizpi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John tries to lie to himself, he really does.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pretty little lies that I wanted to believe

John tries to lie to himself, he _really_ does.

He tries to escape, to break the spell, but he knows, deep down, that he can’t run away from Sherlock.

Because Sherlock is the Earth and John is the Moon, and they’re always dancing around each other. One step forward and two steps back. Colliding and crashing and melting and evolving. It’s an odd dance but he leads and follows every time.

He would follow him to the darkest of places, to hell itself.

And he did. He followed him. And they fell and came back from the dead. Both alive and full of scars. Together and separate. Their lives always connected.

He thought —naïve and stupid— that his attraction to this glorious man was just related to the thrill, the adrenaline of the moment, to the fight and the chasing. To the rush and the blood and the delicate feeling of immortality in his bones.

But now he is sure that it is much more.

Much more than an addiction. Much more than an affliction. Much more than that.

It’s a quiet morning and Sherlock is just all limbs and curls and a sleeping robe across the couch. He sits there, palms praying, fingers touching his lips, thinking so still, almost not breathing. Because breathing is _boring_. No Sherlock, breathing is _everything_. But John can hear the clamor of his brain. Always so complex, always so restless.

Such a strange, extraordinary and beautiful creature.

In that quiet moment, so domestic and normal, John realises that there’s something _there_. Something at the back of his mind and in the inner corners of his eyes. Something in his chest that whispers and screams at the same time. This quiet little moment tries to tell him the truth that has always been there.

_John is Sherlock’s and Sherlock is John’s._

He is not surprised or angry, or anything. He just breathes and looks at the man in front of him. This man that makes him _feel_ alive in the middle of the city, in the middle of a war. This mad man that has the social skills of a nine-year-old child. This mad man that is now thinking so loudly and breathing so quietly.

And John only smiles. With the secret smile that he only uses with Sherlock inside the walls of their flat.

And Sherlock looks at him. Smiling. With the same secret smile that he only uses _for_ John.

And all the pretty little lies that he wanted to believe are lost in the inaudible noises of their heartbeats dancing together. Fighting and chasing every new case and every new emotion.

John tries to lie to himself, he really does.

But the truth has never been so _eloquent_ inside their shared silence.

**Author's Note:**

> S4 is coming next year, the trailer happened and I needed this.


End file.
